The Power of Two
by astudyinotters
Summary: A contribution to the Johnlock gift exchange on Tumblr for kriskros-krusader. Their prompt was Omegaverse featuring "A bit of banging around in the background," among other things. Read at your own risk!


**This is my stupidly late gift for the Johnlock gift exchange that happened on tumblr a while back. It seems, that my tumblr did a very stupid thing and I didn't get the prompt until the exchange was actually over. Needless to say, I worked on it and after suffering quite a bit from writer's block, finally finished my contribution, nearly 6,000 words later.**

**That being said, this is my first foray into writing Omegaverse, and I sincerely hope it's what my giftee, kriskros-krusader, wanted. Please enjoy, and any feedback would be greatly appreciated!**

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><p>John should have said no when Lestrade had approached them with a new case. It was less than a week until Sherlock's scheduled heat, but the promise of an eight had forced his hand. It was difficult for John to deny his omega anything, and after a good thirteen days of absolute boredom, John had acquiesced to save their wall. Lord knows Mrs. Hudson was cross enough as it was, and the plaster really couldn't take any more bullet holes. With a heavy sigh, John zipped up his jacket and trailed after his mate, following Sherlock to the crime scene.<p>

As soon as they were out on the street, John regretted his decision. Sherlock smelled delicious, his body producing triple the regular amount of pheromones in preparation for his heat. It seemed as if everyone they passed was an Alpha, their heads whipping up in Sherlock's direction, noses turned up in the air to catch his scent.

Sherlock was positively ripe, and John found that restraining the urge to bend his mate over the nearest horizontal surface to take him then and there was very hard indeed. With all the stares, catcalls, and lewd looks Sherlock was getting, John could feel his anxiety rising. While he and Sherlock had been in a relationship for eight months now, they hadn't yet taken the next step and bonded during a heat. Maybe, if John was lucky, this time, Sherlock would say yes.

Arriving on the crime scene, John all but groaned as the forensic crew turned and zeroed in on Sherlock. Huffing quietly under his breath, John slid an arm around Sherlock's waist, sending a particularly harsh glare at a panting Alpha with a raging erection.

"John, are you alright?" Sherlock asked, turning to face the agitated blonde.

"I will be as soon as we get back to Baker Street," he quipped, shooting Lestrade a dirty look. He was mildly pleased to see that the Detective Inspector at least had the courtesy to appear apologetic.

"You're throwing off claiming pheromones, John. It's distracting," Sherlock said, barreling forwards to start the deductive process.

Frowning, John stood back and watched his mate work. From his spot beside Lestrade, John could see everything happening on the scene. Crossing his arms, John tried his hardest to remain passive as five different sets of eyes stared blatantly at Sherlock's arse. He watched as erections grew in trousers, watched as blushes spread and breaths fell faster, watched as Sherlock shed his coat, a bead of sweat glistening on his brow.

"Sherlock, are you okay, mate?" Lestrade called, walking up to the detective to place a hand on his shoulder. "You look like you're running a fever. Maybe you should go home."

"Nonsense, Lestrade," Sherlock replied, waving a hand dismissively at the Detective Inspector. "It's merely a tad warm. I should have left my coat at home."

Lestrade looked over his shoulder and sent John an exasperated look. "I really think you should go home, Sherlock. Or at least go to a clinic," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm fine, Lestrade. Let me focus on the murder. I'll go home after the case is closed," he replied, squaring his shoulders.

Lestrade sighed and returned to John's side, his shoulders slumped in resignation. "He's going into heat, John. You need to get him off the site before my team snaps and attacks him," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"I know," John murmured, "but he needed a case, Greg. He was going crazy."

"How bad was it?" Lestrade asked.

John took a moment to breathe deeply, the many mishaps of the past two weeks coming to memory. "He's gone through four feet, seven index fingers, and one dead bird he was using to cultivate mold. He also added five new bullet holes to the wall and blew up the kettle. Twice," he answered, posture straightening as one of Lestrade's team members approached Sherlock.

"Jesus, Joseph, and Mary," Lestrade breathed, staring in horror as the intern- an Alpha named Andrew- slid a hand up Sherlock's arm to cup his neck.

Counting backwards from ten in his head, John fought to remain calm as Andrew flirted with his mate. Sherlock's scent was everywhere now, and his pale skin was flushed with the beginnings of his heat. All of his patience finally ran out, however, when Andrew's fingers trailed up and stroked over the patch of skin where Sherlock's neck met his shoulder; over where a bond bite would be if Sherlock was bonded.

John growled, instantly drawing the attention of every Alpha, Beta, and omega at the crime scene. Lestrade patted his arm sympathetically and walked off to pull Andrew away from Sherlock. The other Alpha in question brushed Lestrade off and squared his shoulders.

"Are you challenging me for him?" Andrew called, his voice amused.

John's blood boiled. Him, challenge another, young Alpha for Sherlock? Sherlock was already _his_mate; was already John's. There was really no challenge necessary, for the claim was already there. "No, I'm not challenging you," John replied, his voice deceptively calm. "He's already claimed."

Andrew laughed at John's statement and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist. "Well then, if you think you've claimed him, I'll challenge you for a chance to share in his heat," he said, raising an eyebrow in challenge to John.

The right corner of John's mouth turned up ever so slightly, his eyes staring hard at Sherlock. "Fine. Name the challenge," he deadpanned. He watched Sherlock's eyes widen and his adam's apple bob as he swallowed, giving away the exact moment he really understood what was going on.

"Look, Roger, what he says is true. John is my mate," Sherlock murmured, not daring to break the eye contact he had with John.

"My name is Andrew, sweet cheeks, and you're not bonded yet, which gives me room to make a challenge," Andrew husked, tightening his hold on Sherlock. "And as for the challenge, I think a simple fistfight will do. Right here, right now. Winner takes the omega home and buggers him silly."

John nodded once and unzipped his jacket before motioning at Andrew to approach. He was much smaller than the other Alpha, and no doubt weaker as well. Andrew towered over him a good eight inches or so and looked to be a good sixteen stone of hard muscle. A lesser man would have thought himself to be outmatched and forfeited the fight, but John was not a lesser man. John was a soldier and a doctor; he knew how to fight both cleanly and efficiently, and he knew just how to take down a man twice his size and not deal any lasting damage. In short, the fight would be easy for him, and John was eager for it to start.

The first swing caught John off guard, leaving him barely enough time to dodge the blow. The second swing, John was ready for, rolling his body into it so he could get around Andrew's front and push his elbow into the fleshy part of the other Alpha's back. Judging by the wheeze that passed through tense teeth, John was certain he'd nailed one of Andrew's kidneys. Perfect.

John allowed another blow to hit his right shoulder, the impact providing just enough time for John to drive the heel of his left hand up into his opponent's nose. Andrew howled and doubled over, hands flying to cradle his face. Not wasting anymore time, John pushed him to the ground and wrapped his hands around Andrew's neck, a growl ripping from his throat. Bending low, John brought his mouth by the other Alpha's ear. "Sherlock is _mine_," he whispered, holding both their bodies still.

Andrew struggled for a moment, attempting to buck John off his back. "No way in hell he's yours," he growled back.

Frustrated, John tightened his grip and leaned forward even more. "Last chance to forfeit," he warned.

"Fuck you," Andrew spat, back arching in one last attempt to free himself from John's hold.

Chuckling softly under his breath, John leaned in the rest of the way and sunk his teeth into the spot where Andrew's neck met his shoulder, humming contentedly when his opponent's body went slack underneath him. It was a humiliating position for an Alpha to be in, and John purposely drew out the bite, allowing for the message to sink in.

After holding the position for a few moments, John finally pulled away from Andrew and wrapped a firm hand around Sherlock's wrist, dragging him back to towards Baker Street, growling at Lestrade as he went. Never before had John been so affected by an omega's heat, especially one that was still settling in.

They were two blocks away from home when a pack of Alphas caught Sherlock's scent. Interested, they all turned, chasing the pheromones with their noses. John could feel the Alphas eyes linger on Sherlock's neck for a brief moment. A warning growl rumbled in his throat as he glared pointedly at the pack, promising grievous bodily harm should any of them attempt to take his omega.

He was pleased when the group of Alphas nodded politely at him and hurried off in the other direction, silently acknowledging John's claim. Taking a deep breath, John allowed Sherlock's scent to flood his being. his skin seemed to hum as his mate's pheromones mixed with his own. It was addictive, and the knowledge that soon they'd be together in Sherlock's bed with their bodies as tangled and combined as their scents made John want to claim his lover right there in the middle of the street. Smirking, his inner Alpha decided that it was a brilliant plan.

Sherlock had no idea what hit him. One moment, he was trailing behind John, his skin itching and burning uncomfortably, and the next he was pressed up against a hard surface. John pressed his nose against his neck, his lips and teeth worrying a dark bruise over his scent gland. All at once, Sherlock's blood boiled and his skin seemed to ignite. John was everywhere, John's firm hands pressing intently against his body, John's scent in his nose, John's erection grinding firmly against his thigh. "John," Sherlock whined, arching against his lover. "Please."

"Please, _what_?" John husked, a hand trailing down Sherlock back to grope at his arse.

"Take me," Sherlock whimpered, his back arching up away from the wall to press himself closer to his lover.

John chuckled and nosed at Sherlock's scent gland, sniffing greedily. "Oh, I'm going to take you, love," he murmured, kneading Sherlock's arse. "but first, I am going to take you apart bit by bit. You're going to cum down my throat and around my fingers before I even think about taking you." He paused to nip at Sherlock's earlobe, tongue snaking out to soothe the sting. "And only when you're desperate and begging for my cock will I push into you so slowly that you'll cry."

Sherlock shivered under him, a needy moan falling freely from between his plush lips.

"Then, I'm going to fuck you nice and slow, gonna show you who you belong to," John growled, rolling his hips against Sherlock's.

"Oh god, John. Please," Sherlock begged, rubbing up desperately against his mate.

"Baker Street. Now. Do not make me wait any longer," John barked, pulling away from Sherlock to stalk back to their shared flat.

Sherlock stood there and blinked for a moment, his brain hazily attempting to process everything John had said. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his Alpha's last command ringing in his ears. Yes, heading back to Baker Street sounded like a wonderful idea.

Sherlock arrived home a few, long moments after John, his hands flying instinctively to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. Seconds later, John's hands batted his away and his shirt was rucked up hastily over his head.

John's hands didn't wait, his deft fingers eagerly slid down his torso to pop the button and ease the zip of his trousers down. The next few heartbeats were a whirlwind of pushing, pulling, and ridding themselves of their clothes. Before Sherlock could register what had happened, John had pressed him back against their door, dropped to his knees, and had swallowed him down to the root. Sherlock moaned loudly, and John couldn't help the way his chest swelled with pride when his lover's head tipped back and collided loudly with the door.

Sherlock's hands wound into John's hair, his clever fingers grappling for purchase in his short hair. John hummed around his mouthful and swallowed once before he slowly pulled back, relishing in the glacial slide of Sherlock's cock against his tongue.

It's no mystery to Sherlock that John loved every aspect of this. Over the course of their relationship, John would swear that he'd turned the act of giving Sherlock a blowjob into an art. He's learned just how long his mate can last without spilling his release hot and thick across John's tongue. He's learned how the liquid oozing from Sherlock's cock turns sharper right before his orgasm crests. He's learned that his lips will burn and his jaw will ache later, but it is so definitely worth it for the desperate, wanton, noises John knows that Sherlock will make as he falls apart piece by tiny piece at John's touch.

John's chest rumbles with pleasure as he takes his time, enjoying each of the little, broken noises that slip from between Sherlock's parted lips. Closing his eyes, John savored the familiar salty tang of Sherlock's precum, taking a moment to hollow his cheeks, sucking hard as the tip of his tongue swirled around the head of his lover's cock. Above him, Sherlock groaned at the sensation, his jaw dropping slack as his breathing quickened.

"I'm close," Sherlock warned, fingers tightening against John's scalp.

"Then cum," John urged. He breathed deeply for a moment, taking a moment to collect himself and lock their gazes. Glasz bored into navy as John leaned forward and eased Sherlock's cock back into his throat, pressing forward until his nose bumped against the soft swell of Sherlock's abdomen. John blinked once, nuzzled his lover's soft skin, and swallowed around his mouthful twice, his eyes finally fluttering shut when Sherlock's cock twitched and emptied its load down his throat.

As always, Sherlock's first orgasm was simultaneously bone meltingly good, and not nearly enough. No sooner than he'd finished emptying himself down John's throat was his cock already twitching back to life. He knew, from past experience, that he wouldn't get any real relief from his orgasms until John is buried and knotted within him, his seed claiming him from the inside out. "John, need you," Sherlock panted, his thighs rubbing slickly together, the movement eased by the slickness dribbling down from his arse.

"Oh, you'll get me," John murmured, rising to his feet. One hand fisted in Sherlock's hair while the other wrapping loosely around his erection. "But only when I'm ready to take you."

Sherlock whimpered needily as John guided him through the sitting room of the flat. First, he thought he was being directed to the couch, but when John changed directions and headed for the kitchen, he tripped and followed as best as he could, knocking the side of their coffee table with a shin. In the very back of his mind, Sherlock wondered why the action didn't hurt like it normally would. The very next second, his train of thought was cut off as John bent him forward over their kitchen table and pressed up against him, John's erection sliding through his slick to press teasingly against his entrance. If he angled his hips just so, he knew John would slip into him…

Sherlock's movements were stopped when John's hands slid down his back to tightly grip his hips. "I know exactly what you're doing, Sherlock," John growled, bending to nip at the bruised patch of skin over his lover's scent gland. "And if you don't stop trying to get me inside you prematurely, I'll lock you up in your room with nothing but a plug for the rest of your heat."

Sherlock shivered under him, his body going stiff. It was difficult not to rut back against John when he was level-headed and not in heat, but with the added flood of hormones, it took a colossal amount of focus to still his body. It was worth it, however, when one of John's hands broke its hold on his hip and rubbed small circles against his slick entrance. Sherlock moaned and spread his legs, his back arcing beautifully.

John's first finger slipped in easily, pulling a needy groan from his lover's throat. "Look at you, Sherlock," John said, stepping back to admire the picture his mate painted. "You're so desperate for it already. I bet if I wanted to, I could skip stretching you and press my cock inside right now."

Sherlock moaned in agreement and wiggled his arse invitingly, the movement pumping John's finger in and out of his hole. "Please, John," he whimpered. "Please fuck me."

In reply, John pulled his finger out of Sherlock and ran his hands over the flushed skin of his arse. "I don't think so," he replied, squeezing the twin globes of flesh before he pulled them apart, exposing Sherlock's quivering entrance. "I'm enjoying seeing you like this, love. All spread out and needy for me, for my big Alpha cock. You want it bad, don't you?"

Sherlock groaned and nodded his head sharply, as if the ability to speak had deserted him.

"You are so absolutely gorgeous," John continued, bending to press a kiss at the base of Sherlock's spine. "Breathtakingly beautiful, and all mine, aren't you?" he asked, the words puffing hotly against Sherlock's skin as his lips pressed gentle kisses against his skin.

"Yours," Sherlock confirmed, his voice breathy and weak. "All yours. Please, John. Don't tease."

John chuckled, spread Sherlock's cheeks further apart, and pressed a chaste, closed-mouth kiss on his furled entrance. He watched greedily as Sherlock's hole fluttered around nothing when he pulled away, rhythmically clenching like it did when Sherlock was nearing orgasm. He took a moment to stare as Sherlock's natural lubricant dribbled from his arse, shining wetly and making everything slick. "You are so fucking close already, aren't you?" John asked, squeezing the globes of his lover's arse. "I've barely touched you, and you're about ready to shoot your load all over our table, aren't you?"

The deep, broken moan that rumbled in Sherlock's throat was the only confirmation John received.

"Then cum for me, love. Cum while I work my fingers into you," John said, eagerly pressing two fingers inside Sherlock's hole, his fingertips instinctively aiming and rubbing against Sherlock's prostate as he clenched around him and came. Two fingers quickly became three as John used Sherlock's oversensitivity to his advantage. Smirking slightly, he twisted his fingers, whispering filthy things into Sherlock's skin.

"Do you remember the first time I fingered you open?" he asked, stretching his fingers as far as he could inside his lover. "I'll never forget it. Your skin was flushed red and your arse stretched impossibly wide around half my hand. I was convinced you would break my fingers when you came, but you didn't. Instead, you surprised me by cumming so hard you shot in your hair. It was so hot, Sherlock, and I see it burned behind my eyelids every time I open you up."

Sherlock arched back against John's hands, hips stuttering as they tried to work John's fingers deeper. "John," Sherlock panted, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of the table. His entire body felt as if it would burn from the inside out. Every push and press of John's fingers inside him seemed to fuel the fire. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he had already cum twice in the last half hour. He knew, that it was impressive and he should be grateful for the pleasure John had allowed him thus far, but he also couldn't help the absolute need that wracked his body with shivers and burned deep within his bones.

"Go on, love," John urged from behind him, his free hand pressing up under Sherlock's body to smear through his release and wrap around his impossibly hard cock. "Cum for me."

Sherlock keened as he came, his release spilling hot and thick over John's fingers. Just for a moment, he was convinced his body would give out on him, but after a few heartbeats of blessed coolness, the fire flickered back to life just behind his navel. Turning his head to the side, Sherlock pressed his face into the flesh of his forearm and groaned.

"Christ, Sherlock," John murmured, bending to press a kiss between Sherlock's shoulder blades. "You are going to be the death of me."

Sherlock hummed softly in response, rocking his hips back against John's insistent erection.

"Fuck, you're so far gone already," John said, pulling away from his lover. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"And then you'll take me?" Sherlock mumbled, craning his head to catch John's gaze.

John smirked and nodded. "If you ask nicely, love," he replied, softly patting Sherlock's arse. "Can you sit up for me?" he asked.

Slowly, Sherlock pushed up from the table and turned around, leaning heavily against the wood. Gently, John stepped forward and invaded his space, his hands sliding up and down Sherlock's arms. Little by little, John pressed their bodies together, leaving Sherlock to revel in the way that they fit, like two puzzle pieces sliding perfectly into place. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sherlock became aware of the fact that he was created specifically for this moment; he was created to fit together with John Watson.

Taking advantage of Sherlock's state, John allowed his gaze to wander, his eyes running up Sherlock's body as he pressed even closer. "God, you are so fucking gorgeous," he murmured, stroking a thumb across Sherlock's zygomatic arch. He watched as Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut and his face chased the contact with his hand. It was precious, he thought, the way Sherlock all but nuzzled into his touch. His smirk melted into a soft smile as John allowed himself a rare moment to really appreciate his mate.

John was brought back to the matter at hand when Sherlock turned his head to the side and sucked John's thumb into his mouth. He groaned and rutted his hips forward, grinding his erection against Sherlock's half-hard cock. "Jesus, Sherlock," he whispered, pulling his thumb from Sherlock's mouth. He hovered for a moment, his gaze flickering from Sherlock's eyes to his mouth. It didn't take long for Sherlock to read his intention, his own mouth falling open in a blatant invitation. Licking his lips, John sucked a breath in through closed teeth and watched as Sherlock's pupils dilated impossibly further. He was still a few heartbeats longer, waiting until Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut and his breath hitched. Only then, did John lean in the rest of the way and press his mouth against Sherlock's, groaning at the slick slide of their lips.

Sherlock melted against John, his body sagging against John's firm torso. John was sturdy against him, a constant source of strength and heat and compassion, no matter the situation. To Sherlock, John was the rock on which he built his life, John was the sun that he orbited around, John was the air that filled his lungs and the fire that burned in his veins. In short, John was his everything, and Sherlock was overcome with the intense desire not only to mate with John, but to bond with him as well.

"John," he breathed, breaking the kiss to bury his face in the crook of John's neck. "John, I want you."

"I know, Sherlock," John replied, hands sliding down his lover's torso to hook around his thighs. "I want you too," he continued, pulling Sherlock even closer, one hand guiding Sherlock's legs to wrap around his waist, the other sliding up the back of Sherlock's thigh.

When John was confident that his lover wouldn't fall, he stepped even closer, pressed an open mouthed kiss to the side of Sherlock's jaw, and picked him up, groaning as the new position caused the crown of his penis to rub across Sherlock's entrance. It would be so easy to let Sherlock sag in his arms and fuck up into him, but John knew that if he allowed that to happen, that he and Sherlock would never make it to the bedroom. Carefully, he guided Sherlock's lips back to his own, licking surely into his mouth to glide their tongues together as he carried Sherlock into their bedroom.

They fell into bed together, their limbs tangled together, blurring the lines where John ended and Sherlock began. Slowly, John worked his way down Sherlock's body, pressing kisses against every inch of skin he could. When Sherlock's body went pliant underneath him, John took a moment to fumble in the bedside table for extra lube and a condom, one of his hands prodding against Sherlock's stretched hole to make sure he was still sufficiently prepared.

"Leave it, John," Sherlock said, reaching a hand out to wrap his fingers around John's wrist.

"Sherlock, we need protection," John said, breaking free of his lover's hold to pluck a condom from their side table drawer.

"No, we don't," Sherlock countered, snatching the condom from John's fingers to toss it back inside the drawer.

John went still and raised an eyebrow at his omega. "Yes we do."

"We really don't. I'm clean, you're clean, and I'm on birth control. I want to feel you, John. So please, allow me that," Sherlock explained.

Slowly, John nodded his head, bending to press their lips together. "Okay," he murmured, the words gliding sweetly across their lips. "Okay."

Taking his time, John worked his way down Sherlock's body, his steady hands touching, pressing, and pulling Sherlock into place. John's mouth followed behind his hands, lips and tongue and teeth working bruises over each of the erogenous zones he found. Once again, John pressed his fingers back into Sherlock, checking to make sure he was still open and ready for what was to follow.

"Please, John," Sherlock panted, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the sheets. "I can't wait anymore."

Looking up from his position between Sherlock's spread thighs, John took in the form of his lover. Sherlock's skin was flushed even redder than before, glistening with a thin film of sweat. His eyes were dark and glazed over with desire, and his lips were swollen and bruised red from John's kisses. "Jesus Christ," John breathed, sliding up Sherlock's body to kiss him, licking into his pliant mouth. "You feel so good."

Sherlock whimpered as John worked his way back down his body, groaning when John licked playfully at the dripping head of his cock. Try as he might, all Sherlock could do was writhe under John and allow him free reign of his body. His body burned hotter with each pass of John's hands and mouth over his flesh and he was convinced that if John didn't take him right then, that his body would combust and break apart into a thousand tiny pieces. A sob caught in his throat and tears blurred his vision, and then finally, _finally_, John gripped his hips and pressed his cock slowly inside.

Just as he promised, John took his mate slowly, enjoying the slick slide and tight heat of Sherlock's arse. His omega's body burned, the heat searing around his length. "Fuck," he groaned, stilling when he was fully sheathed inside his mate. "You're so fucking tight, Sherlock. And so goddamn hot."

Sherlock groaned and wrapped his legs even tighter around John's hips. "So big, John," he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut. "So perfect. My Alpha. My John. _Please_."

Slowly, John pulled back and breathed deeply, waiting a moment before he gently rocked his hips forward, pressing himself back into Sherlock. "Jesus, Sherlock. You're amazing. And all mine, aren't you?" John asked, bending to lick at the sweat on Sherlock's neck. "My omega. No one else's."

Sherlock gasped and felt his response catch in his throat. John was all around him, his arms were bracketed on either side of his shoulders, John's face was so close to his own that they were breathing the same breaths, John's body was hot and firm and steady pressed against his own, and John's cock buried deep inside of him. Sherlock was overwhelmed by John, and despite the shame he felt as his eyes welled up with tears, Sherlock didn't want to be anywhere else.

"Yours," he finally managed to gasp, his eyes snapping open to take in John's expression. "Always yours. Never anyone else's. Please, John."

"Please, what?" John asked, leaning to kiss away Sherlock's tears. "What do you need, love?"

"Bond with me," Sherlock replied, his hands sliding up to clutch at John's shoulders. "Want you to bond with me."

John's hips stuttered at Sherlock's words, pausing their coupling to stare incredulously at his mate. "Are you sure?" John asked, his voice tight. "Because I swear, if you aren't sure, this will stop until you have something covering your scent gland."

"I'm sure," Sherlock replied pressing his hips up to force John deeper inside of him. "Want you be yours and wear your mark. Please, John. Make me yours."

John took a deep breath and stared at Sherlock for a moment, his eyes flickering back and forth from his face to his pale neck. Tensing his jaw, John glided his hands down to Sherlock's thighs, hooking his palms on the underside of Sherlock's knees, and pulled them up to rest on his shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you now," he growled, snapping his hips forward, smirking at the loud slap of skin against skin. "And when you're sobbing and on the verge of cumming on my cock, I'll bite you and make you mine."

Everything stopped for a moment, leaving Sherlock to attempt to steady himself. He shared a breath with John and noted the wild, unbridled lust in his eyes. Another heartbeat, another shared breath, and then what was left of John's control snapped. He fucked into his mate hard and fast, allowing the glorious haze of Sherlock's heat to wash over them.

"I'm close, John," Sherlock panted, his arms wrapping tightly around John's neck.

"Me too, love," John groaned, nuzzling his nose against Sherlock's scent gland. "Gonna fill you up with my seed and my knot. Would you like that?"

"Yes," Sherlock hissed, burying his face against his Alpha's neck. "I need it John, give it to me."

"Mine," John growled, snapping his hips impossibly faster, his teeth worrying the bruised skin around his mate's scent gland. "You are _mine_."

Sherlock was able to endure John's onslaught for a few more moments before John fucked his knot inside and came harshly, his teeth clamping down hard enough to break the skin of his neck. A few heartbeats later, Sherlock followed John over the edge of bliss, muffling his keen in John's neck as he spilled hotly between their bodies.

"My mate," John murmured, licking gently at the mark that would forever tie Sherlock to him. "Oh God, you're actually mine."

"Always have been, John," Sherlock replied, squirming under his lover.

John smiled and gently pulled out of his mate, pressing two chaste kisses into the sharp cut of Sherlock's hipbones as he eased his way off the bed. "I'll grab us a snack before the next wave hits, yeah? It'd be good if we could catch a bit of sleep, too," John said, tugging on a clean pair of pants.

Sherlock merely hummed in agreement before turning over to bury his face into John's pillow, sighing contentedly. With a small smile on his face, John slipped off to the kitchen to put together two plates of food before returning to their bed.

The remainder of Sherlock's heat passed in a similar manner. Every few hours, Sherlock would wake John for round after round of spectacular sex and a shared snack before falling back asleep, their bodies tangled with each other's.

Finally, four days after it started, Sherlock's heat was over and John was expected back at the clinic. John woke up sticky, groggy, and his body ached in places it never had before. Hauling himself out of bed, John took a moment to stretch languidly, groaning as he felt his hips and back creak and pop back into place. As quiet as he could manage, John padded into the ensuite bathroom and started the shower, not bothering to wait for the water to warm before he stepped in and reached for the soap. If he hurried, he could still grab a cup of coffee from Speedy's before taking the tube to work.

John was halfway through thinking about his coffee order before he noticed something was amiss. With his eyes squeezed shut, John tipped his head back into the shower spray, hands rinsing the shampoo from his hair. He spluttered when the slow burn in his neck flared, jerking his head out from under the water to seek relief. When nothing seemed to help the burning, John quickly finished his shower, toweled himself off, and wiped down the mirror with a spare flannel, the cloth falling from his hand as he finally saw what was paining him. There, nestled at the spot where his neck met his shoulder, was a mark very similar to the one he'd left on Sherlock's neck.

A few, long moments passed before John was able to comprehend what he had seen. It was common for omega's to wear the bond bite of their mate. It was less common, however, for an Alpha to have a bond bite. Blinking absentmindedly, John attempted to recall how many Alpha and omega pairings he'd seen where both parties had a bond bite. Shaking his head, he counted none; a double bond bite was something he'd only read about in his medical texts all those years ago in school.

"John, you're going to be late for work if you continue to gape at yourself like that. Your train leaves in twenty-three minutes, and you still have to get dressed and buy your coffee," Sherlock said, passing behind John to step into the still-running shower.

Turning over his shoulder, John swallowed thickly as he watched Sherlock leisurely lather himself up, his big hands sliding sensuously over kiss-bruised skin. "You cock," John breathed, his own hand rising to delicately rest over the mark on his neck.

"Come again?" Sherlock asked, reaching for the shampoo as the water washed away the suds on his body.

"You absolute _cock_," John repeated, a smirk pulling up the right corner of his mouth.

Sherlock smiled at him and winked lewdly. "You love it," he said before tipping his head back to rinse his hair. "Now get going, or you'll miss your train. Don't want to be late for your return to work, then people would really talk."

Laughing to himself, John shuffled back into their room to gingerly pull on clothes for the day. He knew that no matter how punctual he was that his coworkers would talk about the mark on his neck. Raising a hand to prod gently at the bruise, John smiled warmly and decided that people could talk all they wanted to; he really didn't give a damn.


End file.
